


Caged

by yuikia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Asgard, Dark, M/M, Mentions of past, Oneshot, Prison, Sad, Sensory Deprivation, Thorki - Freeform, basically the whole thing is one long thought thread, cell - Freeform, does he hate or does he love, hinted onesided love, its actually both ways, loki is a poor babe k, mostly thoughts really, oh the dilenmas, sadness and sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8004886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuikia/pseuds/yuikia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is a prisoner in a sensory deprived cell. He has too much time to think on things that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged

Rust. Metallic scent of blood and odour of his own sweat. Slight burn of his muscles, barely noticable discomfort of being bound by magic. No sound besides his own breath and his constant heartbeat.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

No slighest breeze, nor a ray of light found it's way here. The pain in his mouth faded long ago, the blood dried on his face and he couldn't even move to wipe it off.  
All he had were his thoughts.  
Sensory depravation was truly one of the most cruel ways to punish him.  
Him, who lived by manipulating the truth, by gathering information and using it to his advance.

He almost lost his mind.

Well, he wasn't believed to be the _sanest_ person before that, and now, if anyone was to see him, to speak with him, would be more than convinced of that. If he was able to communicate in any possible way.

There was one thing helping him survive, made him cling to the very core of himself. His memories. He relived every second, trying to bring out long forgotten details just to keep his mind on something - _anything._  
Thing that would occupy his mind the most would be the last thing he had seen - and ironically, the thing that accompanied him the most.  
The smell of sky and earth, long, soft hair in the colour of wheat during the sunset, eyes that were so blue, so deep that he sometimes expected to drown in them. And he did, he drowned that day in his eyes, his guilt he finally felt being the greatest weight that tied him to the very bottom.

He remembers his grip, tight, forceful, enough to make him hiss and forget about any kind of escape, but then he is reminded of the touch on his neck, slow caress lined with worry and regret. The sound of his voice, deeper than usual, lost in thought, a whisper destined for Loki's ears, and for them only. He treasures that moment, and refuses to accept the moment when he falls to the ground and loses conciousness.

There were so many other things to remember - the clank of armor, heavy footsteps, both his and Thor's, the overwhelming travel to Asgard, but he focuses on the very subject of his _brother_ and what he was to Loki.  
His thoughts would linger on Thor's fingers on the thick handle of Mjolnir, the way his whole face lit up when he smiled, how his whole body moved, stretched taut on training grounds. How his muscles would tremble trying to achieve the flexibility Loki had acquired, and then always finding the true Loki, distinguishing him from all of his copies.  
He'd have him pinned, grinning and staring at him until Loki would give up.  
Once he did ask what made him recognise which one was the true, flesh and blood Loki. The answer was their relativity. " **We are brothers, Loki** " he'd say. " **Your blood is my blood, and it's calling me.** "  
Later on he gave it a lot of thought, once he discovered how different they were, how many things separated them. He did not find an explaination, and Thor still could tell his illusions apart. By then, Loki was far too proud to question him again.

He felt regret. But what did he regret? The love, even tainted by jeaulosity that he felt towards his brother? The bond they had? The memories they forged together?  
Or how he broke his heart, how he fought him, how he declared they never were related in the first place?  
It was almost like a riddle. He'd pay well the one who could answer him. He'd do much just to show his appreciation. But the only person that could have the answer was him.  
And he couldn't find it.

But Thor, even if the main subject of his starved mind, wasn't the only one.  
He remembered the power he felt on Earth. He remembered the cold chill that ran through his spine when he met up with Malekith and barely concealed a shudder. He remembered waking with his mouth sewn shut and vocal chords damaged. It has healed by now, but in the darkness, in the constant silence and emptiness that pushed on him from every single direction, he was not able to find his voice anymore.

He remember being yet a child and Odin feeding him lies, and he could swear he felt his muscles clench in anger despite the spell preventing him from doing so.  
One day, or maybe night, he finally found it a little funny. Actually, it was hilarious. He was not only the God of Lies, he was the child of lies, he was a creature made up entirely of lie almost from the moment he was born. His human form was a lie - a constant one, one so convincing and so long that was believed to be true, and he still chose it over his frost giant one. His life as a child of Odin, as a prince of Asgard was deemed a lie immediately, no thought had to be given to decide that. He was raisen in a lie and as a lie - and he complied.

It only made sense his first words when he finally was out were a lie too.

" **Yes.** " He'd whimper, his voice hoarse and quiet, barely above a whisper.

It made sense, honestly. The last things he could sense were first ones he was be overwhelmed with.  
First, a slight ray of light, and even that made him squeeze his eyes even tighter. The softest breeze on his skin, and suddenly he was there - the tight hug, almost crushing his bones, the fresh smell of ozone, the tickle of hairstrands on his cheek, and words that slowly were fitting into shapes in his mind. Suddenly he was able to move, even though his body screamed in protest after prolonged stillnes. How long he was there?  
He reached with his trembling hands, barely having strenght to move them and he touched Thor's face.  
Long, he decided, feeling how his beard had grown, how his face changed. He dared to unclench his eyes and have a first, blurred look on his face. He saw his mouth moving, and then he felt it.  
He was placing chasted kisses on his brows, forehead, cheeks, reaching the corner of his mouth and finally capturing his lips. His arms didn't release the grip by the slighest bit, holding him in secure hug, and suddenly Loki understood.

Odin was dead, and Thor just freed him.

He let out a raspy chuckle, his eyes rolling back for a moment. He clung to Thor tighter and closed his eyes, focusing on the neverending babble from Thor's mouth, focusing on only one question.

" **Are you okay?** "


End file.
